And You Fell
by theramblingfangirl
Summary: All she wanted was to finish embroidering her pillow and for her child to grow up happy. Two, very simple things. But you can't always get everything that you want.
1. Expecting

The baby had definitely been planned.

She and her husband had been trying for years, and she only had the deepest regrets that she'd started to lose faith, to fear that she'd never be able to have the child she'd so desperately wanted. She should have had more trust in the Maker, thatthey were listening to her prayers after all and would deliver to the faithful, as they always had in the times they'd needed them most.

But, while she looked forward to finally getting to hold thebaby in her arms and by no means wanted to seem ungrateful…the pregnancy itself wasn't particularly present.This one, it seemed, was particularly rambunctious, and on some occasions she could even swear that she could feel themdancing in there.

Or them trying to escape early, really, the exact intent of what they were doing was ever a mystery, but it did certainly seem to involve a lot of kicking.

And, on top of all the baby's activities, as time went on she was finding that she couldn't even do many herself anymore either. She couldn't chase after the geese whenever the flock of viscous fiends yet again escaped, nor could she tend to the farm's crops.

All that responsibility was, for now, left upon her husband.

And she was left finding herself with nothing to do.

When she'd asked her neighbours what she could do to pass the time until the baby was born, the answers had generally been the same. Read a book, write some poetry, cook even.

But she was never very good at reading.

It's not that she hadn't tried, it's just that the words didn't evermake any since, blurring together, letters all jumbling up so she couldn't keep track of where the words were, until no matter how hard she tried she just couldn't make sense of any of it at all.

So, unless she wanted a bad headache, reading simply wasn't a viable way to pass the time.

And as for cooking, well, when most of your food comes from your own farm and has to be rationed so that, not only you don't run out and starve, but you also have enough left over to trade when market arrives, baking little treats was a rare luxury rather than something she could occupy the whole 9 months with.

So instead, she took to sewing.

In the earliest days, when she'd only just been convinced to take small breaks from the farm work, it had started small enough. She'd find little salvageable scraps of material fromold, long ruined dresses, scraps which she'd try to turn into something resembling little clothes for her child.

Although, more often than not during those days, saying the end products were even "something resembling" baby clothes was a bit of a stretch at best.

But she got better at it, as time went on, as her belly swelled and the time she could spent on the farm became shorter and shorter. By the fourth month of trying, the clothes were looking like clothes and by the sixth she'd started being able to embroider patterns.p

And then the market came to town and her husband came back with the most beautiful red and orange materials she'dever seen, chantry colours. There was no telling how much he must have had to trade for it and he certainly wasn't sharing that either, just calling it a "little Summerday surprise" for her.

Meanwhile she'd made him a lopsided tunic, granted, a very fashionable lopsided tunic in her opinion, but a lopsided tunic nonetheless.

It had taken a while for her to decide what to make with the gift though. She was tempted to make it into more baby clothes, but the child would quickly grow out of it and they'd likely never find a use for it again, and were it to be made into something for her or her husband to wear it would likely end up dirty and ruined in no time.

So she decided to make a pillow, something of practical use that would actually last. Once the frame for it was made, stuffing it enough was easy enough too, to get feathers she only had to wait for the geese to maul each other or one of their few, often unfortunate chickens, who really should know by now to avoid the bigger, rampaging birds.

Now, she just had to finish the embroidery...embroidery of the symbol of Andraste herself for which…well, it would be outright blasphemous to disfigure or ruin.

But once she finished with that ordeal, everything would just be perfect.

…Well, being finished with that and just one other thing, of course.

Then everything really would be perfect.

…Ish.

Ouch!


	2. Nightmares of a Toddler

That night they had awoken to screaming, parents jolting awake as that keening easily resounded throughout their small house.

If it hadn't happened before, they would have suspected intruders, that their child had awoken to find someone nasty inside and that this were the resulting noise. Had it not happened before, they would have grabbed whatever they could get their hands on and charged right in there to fend them off.

But it had happened before.

And it was her turn to see to them this time, her husband having taken the night before.

And she, the night before that.

The routine was well established by now, so that someone at least should be able to get enough sleep to be functional for work in the morning. But, rota aside, she still didn't quite think that anyone in the household had been able to have a full night's sleep for days now.

"Wake up!" She said, gently trying to shake her now whimpering child awake.

"Mother?" Brown eyes opened, momentarily confused as they took in the surroundings around them, but then they jolted up as if they'd been shocked and her heart could have given out as she saw the look on their face. "We need to- we need to go! The monsters are back they- the- they want-"

"It's just another nightmare sweetie; it's just another bad dream. Nothing's going to hurt you I promise." She assured them, taking their tiny fists down from their hair before some of it was ripped out again.

"You're safe."

"No! No, no, no! You're not listening to me! It's real, they're real and I don't want to talk to them, I don't want to talk to strangers but they won't go away!"

"Sweetie, if anything tried to hurt you, me and your father would stop them. We're your grand protectors, professional monster slayers, smighters of the wicked. That's our job; nothing's going to touch you, not even strangers." She put on her best Orlesian accent possible for that, which, considering she'd never met an Orlesian, only fellow imitators, would likely have caused quite a bit of offence to one.

But nobody cares about the snobby Orlesians, and accuracy wasn't ever exactly the goal when it came to putting on a funny accent. Normally, whenever she put on the thick drawl she could get at least a giggle from her toddler.

This time they burst into tears, and even as she pulled them into a hug, even as they buried their little blonde head into her shoulder, shaking, she could still hear them.

They stayed like that for quite a while.

And she didn't know what to do.

Until a thought occurred.

Slowly she began to peel the clinging arms away, trying to manoeuver herself so she could go get what she wanted.

"No! No don't leave me! Don't leave me alone!"

"Mother's just going to get something sweetie, I'll be back before you know it." A light tap on the freckled nose and then she was gone.

The child didn't like being left alone. They tried to be brave, they really did. But they couldn't see very well in the dark at all, even though they'd been eating all their vegetables.

And there were looming, twisted shadows everywhere.

"The monsters could be hiding in the shadows" They thought, backing up against the wall and tucking their knees close into their chest, as far from the side of the bed as possible. That way, if any creatures start to come out from under it, with their clawed hands and nasty, sharp teeth all ready to snatch him up, they might be able to spot them.

And if they spotted them, and if they jumped and ran, really, really fast they might just be able to get to mother in time and she could yell at them and scare all of them off.

But…but, what if the monsters could reach through the walls?

"I'm back!" Mother entered the room again, carrying something in her arms.

"You see this?" It was a pillow, with what looked a bitty like a sun on it, and the child said as such.

"This, isn't just any pillow. This has the symbol of Andraste. That means, that when you sleep with this, she'll watch over you and protect you from any danger you might ever face!"

"Andraste? Really?!"

"Yes! And if Andraste could liberate slaves from Tevinter, then she can protect you from anything!"

"Even the monsters?"

"Even the meanest of monsters out there!"

She'd been wanting to wait a few more years to give her child the pillow, until they could take care of it better, but their gleeful face as she handed it over, as they promised to treasure it "forever and ever", well, that made it all completely worth it.

And it seemed that it had done the trick too, as the following day they did not awaken to the sound of terrified wails, but instead to that of their chickens, with sun streaming down ontheir faces.

Children, after all, really would believe anything that you told them.

And, even if she did very much doubt that Andraste couldward off any nightmares, if believing that meant that theycould feel safe from their imaginary monsters, then, well…

What harm was there in just a little lie?


	3. Meet Captain Fluff-Mouser

There were two times she noticed something slightly strange about her child.

Neither time, did it happen on a particularly strange day. There was no big, dramatic bang, no sudden oncoming horde of Templars or demons that would set the alarm bells off ringing.

In fact, on both occasions, things were almost completely normal.  
The first time it had happened, after all, the day had started like most; with her husband away tending to the vegetables while she was seeing to the birds.

"Seeing to" being a loose term. In actuality, on that particular day the geese had escaped yet again and it was up to her to try catching them.

And oh, did she hate those geese with a passion.

Their feathery bodies being always so full of indiscriminate rage, they would hiss and snap at her hands and ankles whenever she got too close, leaving her inevitably bloodied and sore before she'd caught even one of them.

And if she didn't catch them?

More than once have those fiends stampeded through the crops- ruining the sprouts- and petrified the chickens so much that the entire coop scattered in opposite directions, creating a whole other problem to deal with.

Those stupid, stupid geese. What did they have to be so angry about anyway? They were looked after just fine! All she asked was for them to lay their eggs and not routinely escape and savagely maul everything in sight! Was that just too much to for those blasted birds?

As it was, she was onto the last one, which her child had ever so affectionately dubbed: "Sir Snapperbeaks the second".

That was, of course, before Sir Snapperbeaks the second chased them up a tree.

"Come back here you feathered swine!" She yelled, sprinting after the demented, honking bird with nothing but murder on its mind.

"I will cook you and all you love into a stew, you hear me? A stew!" She was getting closer now and figured that if all went well then in a few more steps she'd be able to garb a hold of the thing at last.

But then she noticed the barn, a barn with a very noticeably ajar door, a barn full of potential places to hide.

If that thing noticed that gap then she was never going to…  
No damnit!

Sir Snapperbeaks the second had of course noticed the opening and diverted course, heading straight through it into the barn, its pursuer hot on its heels.

Since she was very decidedly not in the mood for a game of hide-and-seek that day she was not going to give it a chance by letting it out of her sight for one second!

Lunging forward she grabbed hold of the bird, keeping a steel like grip even as she thudded down onto the hard dirt floor, and the hissing thing began a renewed, frenzied attack on whatever flesh it could snap down on, leaving bloodied gashes all over her arms.

"Mother?! Are you alright?!"

She turned to look for the source of the sound, somewhat startled to find that she wasn't actually alone.

But then, in hindsight, she shouldn't really have been.

Of course someone else was inside.

Someone had to have opened the door after all.

As for the answer to the question? Well, of course that was…

"Yes!"

No. She was very much in a lot of pain.

"Are…are you sure? Do you need any help? I could get bandages!"

With a great deal of effort she hoisted herself up, pinning both a smile on her face and the goose in close to her chest as best she could and turned around to directly face the little door-opener.

They were crouched over in a corner, staring with eyes as wide as saucers and yet still with their back to her, leaning hunched over something that was just blocked from view.

"Just a bit scratched up sweetie, that's all…What's that you're up to?"

They didn't seem too convinced by what she'd said at first, but the second she asked what they were doing their entire face lit up.

"Oh! Oh yes! Look what I found! Isn't he just adorable?"

They moved aside to show off what was, to be blunt, undoubtedly the most hideous cat she had ever seen.

The cat's fur was either in a tawny, matted mess or, in the case of some patches, missing entirely, revealing red, scabbed over skin. And, on the topic of missing things, it also seemed to have misplaced an entire leg.

As for its face, well, the poor beast looked like it had lost a fight with a bear.

"Just look at his little toesies! I was going to tell you later but I wanted to give him a name first! A noble name for a noble beast! And then I just got distracted because look! Who's the cutest cat in the world? Yes you are, yes you are! " They gushed, cooing over the cat, which gave an appreciative lick in response.

"And…have you picked a name yet?" She asked, eyeing up the cat. From a distance it looked like the scabs were a result of injuries rather than disease, so at least them catching something from it wasn't a concern but she still wanted to wash the…was that…was that her pillow it was lying on?! Oh, dear Maker…

"Yes! This here is Captain Fluff-Mouser! Because he's fluffy and you can bet he'll be the best mouser in town!" Her child puffed out their chest, clearly proud of their naming choice.

"Why yes, I imagine he would be."

"Uh huh! So he'd be supper useful around the house and help catch all the rats you and father don't like! He wouldn't even need to be fed either cause he could just eat all the mice couldn't he?"

Oh no.

"Soooo…"

She knows exactly where this is going.

"Can we keep him?"

On the one hand, this was clearly some feral cat and Andraste knows where they found the thing. It could be aggressive, it could have fleas and in the state it was in there was no guarantee it would live to see next harvest.

But on the other hand, it hadn't seemed to show any aggression so far…and the house did have a vermin problem. A cat would certainly help with that problem.

And, she supposed, there was a certain charm…of sorts…to its war-ravaged look. Ugly cute…almost.

And when she'd been a little girl they'd had an entire flock of felines without much disaster occurring so perhaps just one wouldn't be so bad…

…but…fleas, and…

…

…

Ugh.

She was far too soft.

"…I suppose so, but you'll have to double check with your father."

"Thank you, thank you, thank you!" They sang, before scooping up the cat and snuggling it in close.

"You hear that Captain Fluff-Mouser? You get to stay! You get to-"

The cat suddenly let out a shriek, writhing as if it had been shocked.

And her heart stopped in her chest, as she tried to find a way to rationalise how that wasn't exactly what had just happened. That she hadn't…that…there wasn't… that she hadn't just seen purple arcs of…of electricity, there just wasn't…and…and that-

"Sorry! I didn't mean to squeeze you too tightly. My mistake, good Captain, I promise I won't do that again."

Yes, yes that's what had happened. She was tired and injured, she was just seeing things now. She just needed to go have a lie down, shut her eyes for a bit, maybe even have something warm to drink and everything would be fine.

Electricity didn't just come from nowhere after all, it came from the sky, and well, they were in a barn.

There were no electric shenanigans happening in here.

There was a slight, niggling possibility in her head that something horrible had in fact just happened but, like any good Chantry-fearing parent she elected to completely ignore that.  
Her child had just been a bit careless, that's all.

Pull yourself together!

"Do you want to pet him?" She almost jumped as she realised they were both now right in front of her. Maker, she must have been even more absorbed in her thoughts than she'd first realised, she hadn't even noticed them approach!

And it seemed she'd only just noticed in time too, as this other animal being so close was apparently the final straw for Sir Snapperbeaks the second, who tried to snap down on the cat the second it was within proximity, and very likely would have succeeded in doing so had she not realised the imminent disaster and stepped back in time.

"Sorry, but I have to put this grumpy goose away first. Maybe later." She apologised, wrestling it away as she slowly made her way back for the door.

"She always was a very mean bird." They solemnly agreed, apparently recognising it. "Chased me up a tree once."

"She did, didn't she?" There was a little, light laugh at that.

She was past the door now, almost gone and telling herself that the reason for her urgency to leave the place was just to get the goose back to its coop as quickly as possible.  
That was all.

But then she stopped, realising that in all that had happened she'd completely forgotten something.

"Oh, and Sweetie? You're not supposed to be in here, are you?"

"…Sorry mother, I just saw the cat and wanted to go get it!"

"I know, but it's dangerous in the barn, your father and I store equipment in here so it's for grownups only. If little rascals like you entered, then something bad could happen, so promise me you won't come in again?"

"I promise."

And she believed them.


	4. By the candlelight

The last time she'd noticed something strange about her child, it had been quiet.

With the birds in their coops and the farmers retired to their rooms, there was nothing but a snoring Captain making a single peep in the night.

But not everyone was sleeping.

Even as the night went on, there were still two awake.

The first could be told through a dull, flickering light beneath a doorway, with the one who lit it huddled close by as they poured over their new book. A small thing with a worn down cover.

They'd gotten it from one of the other village kids, who'd thrown it in the mud declaring it too easy and too boring to be of any use to them. But they...didn't quite agree with that statement. That it was easy, that is. They couldn't really tell if it was boring or not yet.

As for the second one, they'd just spotted that light.

She wasn't entirely sure why she'd awoken that night, but as it was she just couldn't get back to sleep. All sorts of things were flitting through her mind, from whether making soup the prior day was a good idea to the upcoming market next town over to that one embarrassing event that happened several years ago.

Sleep wasn't just being a tad elusive, it seemed to be actively avoiding her.

So, in the end, she'd gotten up to go have a drink and stretch her legs, electing to not spend her time lying still and getting increasingly restless as time ticked on by.

That said she wasn't quite expecting her nigh-time drink to be illuminated. She'd only just stepped out into the main hallway, not even haven gotten to where the drinks were stored yet and already she had a feeling that she was going to have to get her mom mode on at this horrific hour.

"What're you still doing up?" She pushed the door open.

A pause.

"…Reading."

"And what should you be doing?"

"…Just one more page."

But she wasn't falling for it this time. She and her husband had already had a conversation about how she was being too soft on the child, and neither of them want the kid to grow up spoilt.

So no. If she let them off this time, it would only happen again and that was not a habit she could have them falling into.

And she told them as such.

"But I'm just getting the hang of it! If I just have a bit longer-"

"Am I going to have to repeat myself?" Her voice was starting to have that bite to it, and the child knew that they could only push their luck so much further before they wound up in hot water.

And while, in some cases, it could perhaps be argued that it was worth it do that, they didn't really feel like this was one of those cases.

"I thought you of all people would understand. You can't do it either. " The child murmured, shutting the troublesome book at last before flopping back with a harrumph.

"Sweetie, if you've inherited my reading skills, then I'm sorry to tell you but you're definitely not going to fix it in just one night." She tutted, before striding over to the bed.

"Let's see it." The child hesitantly handed over the book, nervous about what their mother was planning on doing with it and whether or not they were ever going to get it back.

She didn't seem to notice though that they were watching her every move like a hawk as she flicked through it.

Or perhaps she did notice, and was just ignoring them.

A sigh. "Tell you what, how about you got bed right now and we'll help each other in the morning."

"Really?" They certainly perked up at that, flipping back up once again, seemingly not picking up on the "go to bed right now" part of the deal.

"Down."

There was a distinct *whomp* as they went right back down as fast as they'd gotten up in the first place.

"Sorry."

"And yes, as long as, like I said, you go to sleep. I don't want to have to come in again." Tucking the little book under the crook of her arm, she went to pick up the candle that brought her into the room in the first place, preparing to take it out.

Although, actually…

"And where did you get the matches for this?" Not wanting their child to accidentally burn the place down, she and her husband had taken great care to hide them. Them haven apparently found them was as such of great concern and seemed to indicate they might well have to bury them if they didn't want there to be any incidents.

Nothing else would do, it seemed.

They'd been so sure they wouldn't be able to find them before, after all.

"Oh no! I didn't do it with a match! I learned a trick! Watch!" The child could apparently not decide whether they were to stay up or down, bolting up once more to grab the candle.

"Careful you'll-"

And then they blew it out, plunging them into darkness.

But only for a moment.

Then a speck of light came back, growing bigger and brighter until there was a dim enough light to see the cause of it; just the child, rubbing the wick with bare fingers. Nothing else was in sight, nothing at all that could have plausibly have been the real cause of setting the candle alight.

It was at this point that she may perhaps have made a sound, a doubtless undignified sound, had she been able to open her mouth.

Why?

Well perhaps it was because, at this point, their fingers being where they were, the child should no doubt be in a lot of pain. Screaming even, as their skin started to burn.

Or perhaps because it was because of how none of that had happened. Despite the fire, everything was just…

It was quiet.

"The butcher showed me how! If you just rub two things together fast enough, you can set just about anything on fire! Isn't it cool?" And they were beaming too, of all things, clearly hoping for some sort of praise.

But they weren't going to be getting that.

The mother snatched the candle right out of their hands, blowing it out in an instant.

"Don't be doing that! I thought I made it clear I don't want you playing with any candles!" She snapped, as she fought to keep her hands steady.

"But the butcher said-"

"I don't care what the butcher said! I'm your mother and you will do what I say!" Her voice was getting more distant now, and with the patting footsteps the child could only guess from the lack of light that their mother was leaving now, but they just couldn't tell what had made her so upset about the trick.

They'd seen people do it with sticks before.

So what's so wrong with them doing it?

Then the footsteps stopped; "…Goodnight."

And there goes the door.

As the kid was left bewildered on one side, the mother sank down on the other.

There was a thing called "wilful ignorance", an often blissful thing where you could just choose to ignore all that was wrong around you.

But even it only went so far, before you were forced to acknowledge that something wasn't right.

And a small, frustratingly loud part of her was starting to insist that there was something not right about her child.

But it could really just be a trick, couldn't it? Just because she hadn't tried it, didn't mean that it was impossible to do.

So she took the candle, she took it and tried not to wince as she rubbed the still-hot wick between two fingers. Exactly as her little baby had.

But even as time went on…

She was still left in the dark.


	5. What does and doesn't burn

She was returning from a market that day. It was at the next town over so it was quite a walk to get to and from, meaning that she'd elected to stay at an old friend's house overnight rather than risk running into bandits in the dark, before heading back with her purchases.

In the coming years she'd often wonder if things would have happened any differently if she hadn't made that choice, if she'd arrived home just that bit earlier.

Perhaps there would have been a happier ending to all of this, or perhaps she would have just met her end in a ditch at the hands of bandits.

She'd never know.

As it was, when she did arrive back at her home town she was completely at ease, suspicions of a potential wrongness about her child forcibly pushed from her mind weeks ago. Her only thoughts then were of treating her family to a nice supper with all the fresh produce she'd traded for, including an entire wheel of cheese. She was in a very good mood after all, and awfully prone to spoiling them.

Those sort of thoughts were why it took her longer than it should, far longer than it should, to notice the stares from the townspeople around her, with their wide-eyed gawping and the hushed whispers that didn't quite reach her ear.

But when she did notice, you'd have to be blind not to see the dread creeping into her narrow face, the slight quicken of her pace, as she dipped down her head in a meek attempt to avoid the stares around her. She had a feeling that she didn't want to see their faces, she didn't want to know what it was within those many eyes.

Something had happened, something must have happened for them to be acting like this. No hellos from the neighbours she'd known for years, no chatter, no smiles were anywhere to be found. But what was it?

Then, at last someone did approach, an old, withered man with a limp who'd barely said a word to anyone since his son had left to join the Templars.

It was him, of all the possible people in the town, who said these words to her; "I'm sorry miss but it seems that I must be the one to tell you. Your barn's gone, burned down last night, your child…"

And then she was gone, purchases dropped to the floor like discarded trash as she sprinted back to the farm, memories of candles and a child who would not do as they were told now screaming in her mind.

They'll be alright, they'll be alright, they'll be alright-

It did not take her long to get close enough to see the state of the farm, and as had been said the barn, which was normally the most prominent thing there from the distant she stood, was gone.

A small part of her had been illogically, selfishly hoping against all hope that they were wrong somehow, that perhaps it was someone else's barn that had gone ablaze rather than her own.

But there it was, burned to a cinder, with just the barest charred skeleton of what had once been a supposedly resilient structure remaining.

And with that sight, there was no doubt left in her that if anyone had been inside it at the time of the fire then they were surely dead.

It was at that point she started screaming their names, begging for a response and hearing nothing in return except for the shrieks of the geese she'd disturbed.

She wasn't getting to the house fast enough, and she felt as if something was physically holding her back as it loomed tauntingly at the distance, seeming so undisturbed, so quant, as if nothing had even happened. As if it were remotely possible at all for her to know how many people were inside.

Begging the maker, praying to Andraste that the answer to that question was two, she finally crossed that distance and slammed open the door into the main room, desperately scanning for the faces of the people she loved more than any other. A door that, if she'd taken time to properly notice, she'd have realised was uncharacteristically unlocked.

She quickly saw one of those faces. Her husband, sitting in a rickety chair in a corner, bottle of alcohol in a hand clearly marred with burns.

There was no other person in the room, and he would not look her in the eye.

No.

"Where are they?! Where's our child?! Tell me they're-"

"Mother!"

She froze.

"Mother is that you?! Mother!" A sob from behind a door, a door with a very familiar cat in front of it trying to claw its way in. To her baby. They were alive, oh praise the maker her baby was alive! She thought for a moment that, that-

She ran over to that door, feet unfrozen from the ground, and grabbed at the handle ready to fling it open. If they weren't out here, then there was a chance that they were burned more severely than their father, but if that was that case then she and her husband could deal with it, take time off the farm if that was a necessity and call a doctor. Right now she was still too happy to still have her child for that to-

The door wouldn't open.

Another attempt and another rattle, but it still wouldn't open.

This door was locked.

"Get away from it!" Strong, bloodied hands gripped her shoulders and flung her back from the door.

"What are you doing?!" She demanded at her husband, the cat echoing her sentiment with an arched back and menacing hiss at the man. She tried to move back to the door, only to this time be physically shoved back, nearly losing her balance in the process.

"That thing in there is an abomination. It burned down our barn and I won't let it get you too!" He yelled, veins bulging from a face purpled with what could only be described as rage.

"I didn't mean to! I didn't mean to do anything wrong! Please let me out!" A howl came from behind the door, it being rattled from the other side.

Now it wasn't just the husband seething.

She didn't need to hear those begging words, not as she recalled the bottle of alcohol in her lover's hand nor as she saw those bloodshot, almost unseeing eyes.

"You're delirious and drunk! I swear if you've laid as much as a hand on-"

"Don't you patronise me! I know what I saw! That thing in there-"

"That thing? That's our child, your child in there! Now open the door!"

"Is it?" Spittle flew into her face as he drew up close, grabbing her arms. "Is it really my child? I've been faithful to the maker, devout, as was my father and his father before him! The maker would have no reason to spite me! But you?! I've seen you talking to some of the strangers who come here, heard the rumours that one of those blond men was apprehend a few towns over as an apostate!"

"Your paranoia truly is unrivalled, I've done no such thing! That child through there? The child you've locked up and terrorised? They're as much yours as they are mine! Now let go of me!" He was hurting her now, and along with her anger she was beginning to become very, very scared. She wanted out the house, she wanted to take her baby and run, to get out now because she'd never seen her husband like this before and she didn't know what he was capable of doing to them in this state.

"Then how do you explain it being a blighted mage?!"

"They're not-"

"I see the flames and go into the barn, I pull it out of it, saving its life and what do I see? Its hands are on fire!" He lets out a hysterical, mad-sounding laugh at that, face contorting into something she can't even recognise.

"If they were in the middle of a burning building then how does them being on fire mean that they must be one of them?! It was a fire, people catch on fire in fire's! You're burned!"

"Not like this! Not like me!"

"How!?"

"Because they're not burned! Me? I smell like cooked meat and my hands look like it too! It shakes it off and not even a scar!"

"Show me then!"

"I'm not stupid! I'm not opening the door no matter what you say! I'm not letting it get to you, hurt you, unfaithful as you are!" Once again she's flung back, this time slamming into the table, knocking it over in the process and falling to the floor with a loud crash.

"Mother! Leave her alone! She didn't do anything wro-"

"Shut up! Shut up, shut up, shut up!" Her husband pounded back on the door, each pound punctuating every yell for silence.

"What do I have to tell you for you to listen to me you?" Attention turning again to his wife as she crawled back to her feet.

Banished thoughts of candles the strange things about her child returned along with a conclusion that she'd first had suspicions of…quite a while ago. But that conclusion did not matter, not now. Not in this case.

"Even if you were right, if our child truly is cursed by the maker, damned, then that's our burden to bare. We must be the ones to pay for our own sins, not them!"

"We're not the ones who can burn down this entire town on a whim! Or freeze infants solid in their cradles or call demons forth from the fade! We can't keep it here! None of us will be safe! I've done what I had to do."

Then there was silence, even from beyond the door, as the implications of it set in.

But only for a moment.

"…What, do you mean, by that?"

And the child behind the door could only sob, as once again their parents started screaming at each other.

"…he's contacted his son for us. The Templars will be coming to collect the abomination and-"

"You bastard!"

Their hands clamped down over their ears then as their eyes screwed shut. They didn't want to listen to this anymore.

They didn't want to go, they wanted to stay here on the farm. They hadn't meant to set the fire, they hadn't met to burn the barn down, they hadn't! It was an accident! They'd be good! It wouldn't ever happen again! Ever! They'd promised this to father over and over again as they'd been dragged back here, as the door had been locked, as they'd been left alone in the dark.

But it seems father…father hated them now. He wanted them gone, and even mother couldn't convince him to let them stay.

They'd heard things about mages, horrible things, about those the Maker despised, evil twisted creatures who could bend the world to their whims and would inevitably inflict suffering and destruction on all around them.

They couldn't be a mage, they didn't want to do any of those things they were good! They were faithful to the maker! They were normal!

They couldn't be sent to those things in the towers, who knows what they'd do to them!

They couldn't!

"Please!"


	6. Chained farewells

_**Kirkwall:**_

 _"If you're born with magic they hear about it, they search your little ratspit village and they find you. They tell your parents they'll be thrown in prison if they ever ask about you, stripped of their rights in the eyes of the maker."- Anders_

* * *

 _ **A little ratspit village, many years earlier:**_

It was a warm, sunny day, with a gentle breeze sifting through the grass and the soft sound of rustling leaves drifting through the air. It would have been perfect, a day to sit down with her family and bask in the sunlight without a care in the world.

But doing that wasn't possible, wouldn't ever be possible again.

Because her baby was in chains.

In chains as they, a small frail child, were dragged away shaking by towering figures with swords and suits of armour.

A child who said nothing, but was violently shaking as if it were oh so terribly cold.

"Wait!" Their mother cried, running back out of the house carrying something red and orange.

"Wait!" Perhaps because of the shock of her running right through them, the Templars did not bar her from reaching the baby clasped in iron, stop her as she crouched down to look them in the eyes, doing her best to put on an encouraging smile and not let a sob escape her lips.

She wouldn't cry. She'd promised herself she wouldn't, she had to be strong for them.

"Don't forget this!" She pressed the object into their bound hands. "Something to- to keep you safe at night, remember? Even if- even if mommy can't be there for a little while, this'll keep all the bad mages and demons far, far away until I can come and-" It seemed her time had run out, as had the Templars patience, as metal arms closed around her and she was dragged up and manually pulled away.

"You're interfering with Templar business, if you persist-"

Business?! This was her child! They weren't just some business!

Another Templar was moving towards their business and ripped the pillow out of their hands and seemed about to rip it until-

"That is the symbol of Andraste, destroying it's blasphemy! If you dare, I'll report you to the Chantry myself!" She snarled, staring dead into where she knew their eyes were despite the mask and straining against the Templar still restraining her.

That gave them pause, and they turned over the pillow, examining it closer now and seeing the symbol at last.

With that, there was a grunt, and the pillow given back to the child with an almost mocking degree of care in light of how that actual living child was being treated in comparison.

But that should really come as no surprise, shouldn't it? As while condemning mere babes to a tower said to be teeming with abominations, was no crime in the eyes of the chantry, destroying anything carrying one of their sigils most certainly was, and a serious one at that.

It was still a while before the Templar restraining her finally put her down, apparently deeming at last that either she was too far from the child who'd been getting further and further away to cause a fuss now, or that letting them keep the pillow was enough to placate her.

They were wrong on both counts.

The second she was back on her feet she was sprinting as if her life depended it, and she could feel the looming presence of the man of metal behind her, gaining every moment, the thudding of their heavy armour growing punctuating every single step.

She wasn't going to make it, she wasn't going to get there before he got to her. Desperation clawed at her. She hadn't said all she had to say! Of course, how anyone could ever say everything they want to in a situation like this was beyond her, but there was one thing she needed to get out before it was too late! She had to!

So as she felt the fingertips of the Templars gauntlet barely, just barely brushing against her shoulder, she yelled;

"You won't be alone sweetie! We can write! Tell each other all about what we're missing! That's what the lessons were for, weren't they? Unjumbling all those words together so we can keep in touch no matter what!" The lessons were most certainly not meant for that purpose. Those many hours spent in the weeks leading up to this, pouring over word after word over any literature they could find, laughing whenever Captain decided he wanted attention and lied write on top of whatever they were currently puzzling over, they weren't meant for this.

The words still didn't make much sense for her, still looked wobbly, but she could do it. She could find a way to write for her little-

And then she fell.

Foot caught in a hole hidden by grass.

It was only with her face in the dirt that the Templar, who was not doubt close enough to have easily caught her at the first hint of her stumble, deigned to finally do so, ripping her from the ground like you would a weed.

"If you do that, if you so much as ask about the mage brat then you will be thrown in prison, stripped of your rights in the eyes of the maker, do you hear me?!"

It was then that the tears began to freely fall, unable to be restrained any longer, and then she locked eyes with her baby, who'd heard the words just as well as she.

They shouldn't have had to have heard something like that.

"Do you have no heart?" She wouldn't look at them anymore, she refused, she would give them that measure of respect no longer no matter state they left her in. Instead she kept her eyes pouring over her child, taking in every little detail right down to the freckles, because-

"She's no threat, leave her be. Can hardly help having a mage for a child, happens to the best of us." A harsh snap from another Templar, and the one gripping her let go with a grunt, moving on to join the rest of their group.

-because she knew right then and there that she would not be seeing them again.

And she would not forget, she would never forget her cursed, precious gift from the maker.

Nor, she thought, as a man with a face as steely as one of the Templars masks approached her from behind.

Would she ever forgive her husband for what he did to them.

"Let's go back inside."

She didn't. What mother would? What parent who truly loved their child would?

She stayed there instead, rooted to the spot watching her greatest joy become smaller and smaller as they were moved further and further away. Stayed there, even as tears bleared over her eyes, even as her chest constricted and she couldn't breathe…

…even as the child disappeared entirely in the distance, for the very last time.


	7. Deliveries

**Decades later: Post Chantry Boom**

* * *

At first, the snow had been a novelty. Pretty, swirling patterns falling from the sky, each and every one unique.

The closest any of the huddled mages had come to experiencing it before, was when they'd dared to reach their arms through one of their tower's barred windows.

But then the cold had started to set in.

The biting of the frost, stinging their faces as it whipped past, the deepening pits of snow that swallowed and numbed their feet along with the ever present howling of the wind as the storm raged around them, distracted them from any of the beauty that had once entranced them when the storm was that bit lighter.

And yet they persisted, they kept walking, those who were young, those who were too young and those whose faces were creased not just by a wince at the cold. They persisted because, as the wind blew out any attempt at summoning a fire, they knew that if they stopped, it they did not find shelter before nightfall, then they would not live past it.

But the so-called leader of the group had refused to let this break them, for moral to drop and their spirits break.

They would make it! They insisted.

They would find shelter! They said.

And they did. A crotchety, shoddily constructed barn with gaps in the walls and some of it's wood clearly marred with burns, but shelter nonetheless.

And it lessened the cold, not enough to take of their cloaks and they wouldn't dare try start a fire lest the entire place catch alight, but it was survivable.

They would be able to wait out the storm here safely.

And no-one would find then either. After all, who would willingly go out to their barn during a snowstorm?

*Bang*

Children screamed and the older mages of the group pushed them behind as they forced themselves up, getting ready to defend themselves if necessary. They didn't want to hurt any farmers but they would not go back! They would never go back to the tower with it's blighted Templars!

"Thought so". A gruff voice, as the door slammed shut again.

It was too dark to get a good luck at the figure but so far they showed no signs of making a move to attack or report.

"Trying to bring down my shutters and I see you lot traipsing across my land."

"I'm sorry we-"

"No need for any excuses. You should thank the Maker I saw you, don't think the barn will last the storm."

"-I'm sorry?" The leader wasn't entirely sure whether to allow themself to be hopeful enough you speculate what might be said next and the muttering among the other mages seems to indicate they too were unsure.

"I said the barn isn't going to last the storm. You best come inside."

* * *

Inside the house there was able to be a fire, once they'd gotten the shutters closed that is. And they hadn't even have to light it themselves!

The children were particularly excited at this development, at getting to meet someone new who was nice to mages! The addition of some toys being introduced only heightened that.

The toys, also heightened the leader's suspicions as to why exactly the old woman had granted them access to her home. As did the fact that the house was clearly built for more than one person living in it, and yet when asked she had confirmed herself to be it's only resident.

But the subject of that particular suspicion had not yet been broached with her.

Especially as, if their hypothesis was correct, then the matter was bound to be touchy.

"So, what brings you down here? If you're looking to cross the channel then any boats capable of doing so are a good way away. Not a distance that could be easily walked." The leader almost jumped as the woman spoke from behind them. Last they'd been paying attention she'd been with the kids.

"The Templars know that and expect us to go a more direct route. They'll be swarming there, so we decided to go the way that's less likely to get us caught." They replied, unsure how much information to give, lest she did suddenly change her mind and tip the Templars off.

But there was clearly something else the old woman wanted to know, with her feet shuffling as she seemingly tried puzzle out exactly what to say. The leader was just about to ask what she was thinking when she finally spoke.

"Are you from the Fereldan Circle?" Their was an audible catch in her voice there.

Ah. It was seeming that the Leader's prior hypothesis was likely correct. As for how to proceed with this...hmm...

"Yes. Do you-"

"My son." She interrupted, brown eyes snapping up to meet those of the leader. "My bastard husband, Maker have mercy on his soul, sent my little baby boy off to that wretched place and I want to know what happened to him. If he- if he got out too. He's not with you, but you can't have been the only ones to have escaped. You can't have."

And there it was, confirmed right there. From what they'd heard of other apostates they'd briefly encountered, most non-mages that you could trust had been robbed of someone by the Templars, whether a friend, a sibling...or a child.

"We weren't. What was his name?"

The very moment the leader had confirmed there having been other escapees, the old woman looked like all of Thedas had been lifted from her shoulders and she replied with a name instantaneously.

And the leader felt their heart sink when she did.

"I'm sorry. I don't know of that name. But perhaps Anders would, he's from the same Circle and there's rumours he's still alive! He'd be the most likely to know your son if..." If anyone does. "...well, we could pass on a message if you like. To whoever we see first." It was the very least they could do.

And with that the lady darted off, weaving through mages at a surprisingly fast speed for a woman of her apparent age.

She then pulled out a box and paused, staring at it with a lone finger tracing over the covering of it's wooden surface.

Her face war unreadable as she headed back towards the Leader. They couldn't tell what she was thinking.

"These were my letters to him. We were supposed to learn together, mother and son on how to make sense of all the words and put them on paper. But then it was just me and I had to learn myself so I could keep my promise to him. To write so that he wouldn't have to be alone. Not that it did any good anyway. Each time I thought I could afford the bribe for Templars to pass it on, they rose their prices. Some servants of the Maker they are, stealing babies and leaching off the poor!" At first, her tone had been like her face: unreadable. But by the end of it their was nothing but pure contempt.

The box was abruptly shoved into the leader's arms.

"There'll be no justice for my son, no judgement passed or vengeance that will be delivered for what was done to him bar that of Andraste and the Maker themselves in the end, as it is with all creatures. Nor do I expect forgiveness for not protecting him as a mother should have."

Her head tilted up in defiance as she spoke, and something about it all seemed almost familiar. As did those eyes...but they couldn't be. The leader knew for a fact that he'd never even heard the name of her son before in their life, never mind knowing him well enough to pick out his traits in his mother.

They must just be looking for things that weren't there.

"But I want him to have these. I want him to know the truth. I want him to know that his mother loves him, I want him to know...I'd like to see him again, my precious boy. Even if it's just once..."

A pesky voice in the leader's head whispered how the woman's son may perhaps already have perished, whether in the aftermath of Kirkwall and the start of the Mage Rebellion or long ago in one of the Circle's dungeons.

But they were not going to say that to a grieving mother, especially one who was so clearly unable here to even consider the possibility herself.

"I promise lady, to do the best I can to make sure that he does."

* * *

And they did.

It wasn't until three days later that the mages finally left in the cover of night, bellies filled and gifted with clothes and food by their host, who waved them off before returning to her home, where she would continue to wait for a very long time in case any more mages came by her abode in need of help, praying to see a familiar face turn up at her door.

As for the mages, if was another few weeks before they were able to be safely smuggled onto a boat that would lead out of Fereldan. The leader still held the box that had been entrusted to them.

They were looking for Anders, chasing rumours in the hopes of a leader in this chaos that was a Mage-Templar war.

If they didn't encounter the son first, then they would entrust the letters to Anders, who having been a free apostate for such a wonderfully time was bound to have more contacts and more chance at knowing the son.

Of course, there was a chance that they would never find either of them, which the leader had to concede.

But rebellions were built on hope.

And throughout this entire revolution they would do whatever the could, to cling onto that hope.

Until their people were free once and for all.

* * *

 **The End**


End file.
